Spectacles - Book One of the Years to Come Series
by K1620
Summary: Takes place in Year Five Ezra Wood had never expected what his future would end up to be. While trying to live up to the expectation of his older brother and making sure to keep his secret from any wandering fools, he finds himself in a bind with three teenagers he had been warned to stay clear from. As the secrets pile up and the lies began to slur, his mind can't help but drift.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

Ezra Wood learned from a young age to never put anything before Quidditch. That was exactly the reason why he was now using the sport as an excuse to his non-existent procrastination ways to avoid having his brother get on him for doing homework instead of daily practice.

The Quidditch pitch in the dark of night was Ezra's favorite-dismissing the fact that he hated the game either way. He wasn't permitted to be on the grounds this late but he had found an easy way to sneak out unnoticed. It was so eerily quiet that it comforted him in a way that makes the large moon and thousands of stars seem even more spectacular. And being so high off the ground to see it all, was worth sneaking out.

The boy hung in the air on his broom without care. His broad shoulders slumped along with his floppy brown hair that flipped over. He had so much homework to do and not enough time to do it. Quidditch games and practices had already done its toll on him and just the thought of picking up a quill to scribble a couple inches of nonsense made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

He remembered how disappointed his family was when they found out he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor and instead was placed in Ravenclaw for his intelligence that was beyond remarkable for the Wood family. But they hadn't cared.

When Oliver had been sorted into Gryffindor, the house was alive. It was as if the Holyhead Harpies had won the Cup. Since then, it was all his family worried about. Was Oliver getting enough practice or was he eating nutritionally? How much was he focusing on schoolwork and girls and how well did it balance out with playing time? Was he distracted or was he hurt? Nevermind being smart.

Ravenclaw was for overcompensated, Smart Alec's who cared for nothing but of their wits and numbers—which was what his father told him before his first year. Now, his father said nothing after—literally, he's not on speaking terms with his son.

When Ezra was younger he had to admit that he admired his big brother a lot. On the playing field, Oliver overtook a whole new power completely. His brother knew everything there was to know about Quidditch. It was fascinating to hear him talk so passionately and see him so infatuated with one subject.

But as Ezra grew older, it became annoying. Oliver would wake him up before the sun had risen just to draw out plays and then make him practice—one day Oliver played too rough and broke Ezra's arm in the process of flying. But again, he just wanted to make his family at least a little happy to know that he was doing something useful.

Tomorrow was the first match. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw—in which he needed to both stay out of his brother's House way while also helping Ravenclaw win. Ezra was trying to get his eyesight in check with the darkness and moonlight as his aid.

He reached into his blue bathrobe and pulled out a black snitch Oliver had boughten him for Christmas three years ago.

He raised it in the air, the small wings flapping wildly. Release. Fly. Catch.

It was that simple. Though he knew that having Harry Potter against him was a biased win. Sure, Ezra hated Quidditch and everything it stood for. But he was good. Really good. And joining in his third year had most definitely not been a mistake.

And he was going, to be honest with himself and say that he had quite missed the pitch during the Triwizard Tournament. He missed the green of the grass and the smell of dirt and the clean smell of new robes. He had missed the sound of the students' cheers and claps. He missed the feeling of having his feet touch the ground after being up for so long. But most of all, he missed wrapping his fingers over the golden snitch.

He soared into the black of night and upward he flew. The ends of his robe flipped past him and his hair was blowing back enough to see his hairline. He stopped in mid-air and took a good look around him.

In the sun, it's hard to see gold. In the night, it's impossible to see black.

To the right, the dim lights of Hogwarts give him the faintest glow to illuminate the grounds. On his left, the woods are so deep that he fears are the darkest of all. Up are the stars and the moon. Below is the pitch of green grass. He searches and surveys the area. And then he sees it, taunting him with the flutter of wings.

He surges forward, but the snitch moves away toward the castle. Without thinking, Ezra continues to follow it as so, feeling cheated by the gift that had flown out of boundaries.

He continued his chase to the grounds and the farther he flew the closer he was to the castle. The snitch zig-zagged across the green, fluctuating it's height and dipping up and down. The castle was nearing and the brick was mortifying to crash into.

The castle was a foot away as the snitch soared upwards, and Ezra hadn't been able to recollect himself as he crashed next to Gryffindor towers' window.

Luckily, Ezra was able to maneuver himself last minute and smashed his shoulder into the brick. His left arm seared with pain and he knew that it would be bruised in under an hour. He made a loud, strangled yell as it happened.

Pushing himself off, he held the broom with one arm while trying to flex the fingers on his free hand that had now adorned tiny scratch marks on the knuckles.

He was so focused on his well-being that he hardly even saw the lamp turn on until a soft knock on the window to his right made him jolt and steady himself on the broom.

A boy with black messy hair and large spectacles covering his green eyes made Ezra forget the pain. And instead, all he could do was stare at Harry Potter and the concern written over his face. His lips pointed downward with a frown and his eyebrow scrunched together. His pajamas were all ruffled and wrinkled and it made him look soft and cuddly.

Ezra shook his head, praying that he was hidden in the shadows enough for Harry not to be able to recognize him. He knocked again, and this time Ezra used it as a signal to leave silently.

And he forgot, but a black snitch awaited outside the window, flapping its wings gently to The Boy Who Lived himself.

Ezra landed on the pitch again and gathered all of his stuff together with one capable arm as the sore on folded itself into the pocket of his robe. He hadn't thought to bring his wand out for he was horrible at medical spells anyhow and he deeply regrets that decision at the moment.

He trudged toward the castle in deep thought of green irises and treacherous waves of a black sea. But most of all, he couldn't shake off the picture of two round circles with large frames adorning the boy's pale face.

He'd only interacted with Harry once—disregarding Quidditch matches when they go head to head with one another.

Last year, as Ezra recalls, there was a time during the Yule Ball when Luna Lovegood had dragged him towards every table to check under the chairs for welting wampers. It was after the first dance and Harry had just embarrassed himself around the school and his dancing partner was off with her sister.

The two bumped shoulders. Ezra focused on his eyes, Harry focused on the large butter beer stain he had spilled on Ezra's dress robes. He cleaned it up, apologized thrice, and was then escorted by a needy Patil twin to the dance floor where the Weird Sisters had begun to play something slow.

And Ezra watched him the whole night long.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

The morning of the first match was alive with the buzzing of students and the loud colors of the Gryffindor scarves. The Great Hall was a chatter fest of gossip and pep-talks.

Ezra's shoulder, hopefully unnoticeable, was hidden under his robes with a thick layer of gauze with a cooling charm set on it. When he had awoken that morning, it had immediately stung to move. It was a deep yellowish-purple and the nasty coloring made him want to cover it.

Without the choice of going to the infirmary and getting detention (which he had never got), he decided to treat it himself and only use the right arm to catch the snitch. Luckily, his left hand only had a couple of scratches and nothing was bruised or sprained on that end.

Entering the Great Hall, Ezra stopped to look around at all of his classmates. He took a deep breath.

 _Today would be a long day._

His eyes latched onto a head of black hair and Gryffindor sweater. He hadn't stopped staring until someone had knocked right into his back.

"Hello, Ezra," a soft voice greeted him.

He jumped in surprise and looked over his shoulder. He took a step back, astounded at what he saw before him.

He gulped. "Hello, Luna. Nice . . . Lion head?"

The blonde girl smiled up at him. "Oh yes. Thank you. Though I'm having quite a hard time trying to keep the nargles out of the mane, you see."

Ezra nodded furiously. In truth, he would admit that Luna Lovegood and her brother scared him. They were quiet intellectuals. He believed that in their mind, a whole different world existed and anything could happen. Though, he did have respect for the Lovegood family. His father said The Quibbler was rubbish but Ezra thought that the last issue was pretty informative.

He pointed at the teeth. "Not cheering for Ravenclaw?" he asked her.

She petted down his fur and shook her head. Her blue eyes flew behind him and then straight to his arm.

"You might want to consider having a look at your arm."

His hand shot to his shoulder and he rubbed it subconsciously. _Was it that noticeable?_

He swallowed. "Thanks, Luna."

She hardly paid any attention to the words he spoke to her. She had now looked behind his shoulder once more, stepping on her toes to peek over his tall frame.

"Are you and Harry friends?"

"Who?"

She nodded at him. "Harry Potter."

He looked behind him and directly in the framed green eyes. They bore into him so deeply that he turned around furiously fast, shake the cold chills on his arms.

Stunned, his mouth parted. "Uh—no, actually."

Luna sucked in her cheeks, biting the right side. "Alright. Well, good luck! I'll cheer for you." And she walked away with that statement, little tufts of fur sticking up on the lion.

Ezra strode over to his table, letting his arm go so the captain wouldn't see and rant in him. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table once more. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger we're conversing with the Keeper, Ron Weasley. They were in a heated discussion but Ezra saw those green eyes flit over the red-hair every two seconds. Worried and hasty ones at that.

 _Focus on the game, Ezra. You are a Wood. Never mind if Harry tells the teacher you were out on school grounds passed curfew. Never mind if you can't seem to get the boy_ _off your mind. And never mind about those stupid spectacles._

"Ezra! Hello . . . Come back to the present." The snapping and clapping echoed in front his face for a few moments before knocking him out of his rant.

Penelope Ace, astronomy extraordinaire and best friend, was across the table sipping her pumpkin juice out of the goblet while commanding Henry Kane, other best friend, and ancient ruins enthusiast, to get my attention as she flicked through a book about heaven-knows what star.

"Huh?" Ezra mumbled, dazed and out of place with everything.

Penelope firmly shut the book and slowly placed her goblet on the table. She threw her hands in the air. "That's it, Henry! He's out of it! Completely mad, I was telling you! What did I tell you? You remember, no?" She huffed and blew one of the bangs of her forehead.

Henry straightened in his seat and mumbled a reply to his plate, fiddling with the silverware.

"I mean, he looks unhealthy, smells unnatural, and that look in his eye. Do you see it, Henry? 'Cause I don't think you do!" she exclaimed.

Ezra watched as Henry did a little eye-roll but again, mumbled under his breath. He took a look at his two friends. They weren't much different from the Golden Trio themselves but alas, they had no heroic story to tell of their own and only those of which they had read about.

He grabbed Penelope's wild hands across the table to keep them from knocking over anything. He rose his eyebrows and gave her a long stare. "Penny, I'm fine. Just," he swallowed. "Nervous about the game. That's all."

Suspiciously, she gave him another once-over before nodding. Ezra let her hands go with a sigh of relief. Henry gave a pointed look at the intertwined fingers and Ezra yanked them away and put them to work putting food on his plate.

"Nervous, Ez?" Henry asked him.

Cleaning off his fingers, Ezra shook his head. "No. Just worried."

Penelope cocked her head to the side as she opened her book back open again.

"Well," he continued. "I got a letter from my mother last week."

His two best friends shared a glance with one another before turning back to him with furrowed eyebrows and their complete attention. "What do you mean you got a letter?" Penelope asked slowly.

Ezra closed his eyes and explained, "She said that my father wasn't happy. The whole 'My eldest son is on Puddlemore United' just isn't enough to make him satisfied apparently." He bit into his apple, juice rolling down his chin as he sloppily rubs it off with his sleeve.

His mother and father hadn't mailed him since the beginning of the semester and it was making him itch. Ever since the fight that summer, things just haven't been the same. The grudge was tight and neither parties were accustomed to forgiveness. The side his brother was on was undecided—though, Ezra knew it was the latter.

"Here we go," Henry rolls his eyes. "I'll be all maudlin by the time this year is up. Blimey, your family drives me up the walls, Wood."

Ezra swallows another bite of his apple. "Wait for the cliffhanger, Henry. She says it has to do with _me,_ " sarcasm dripped from his voice alongside the Macintosh he was devouring omg large bites.

Henry put his hand to his chest and faked gasped. "No. What? And no explanation?"

Penelope laughed at his childish antics and nudged him with his elbow. Looking back at Ezra, her eyes sympathized. "Don't worry too much about it, Ez. I'm sure it's something mediocre again. Can't be as bad as the time he claimed that you were the reason he kept forgetting to brush his teeth before bed."

They all laughed, though something deeper than silence hung above their heads undetected and out of sight.

And nothing was worse for Ezra, than feeling those green eyes on his neck the whole morning long.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

 _Merlin. I hate Quidditch._

The pitch was jam-packed for the first games of the season. Children young and old were dressed in team colors to support and hard little flags to go along.

Every game gave Ezra Wood the worst overwhelming feeling and a wave of dread forever considering trying to make his family proud. Why couldn't being proud of himself be enough? _Because you feel left out and your brother is the golden son._

Real nice.

With the broom in the crook of his left elbow, he took his right hand and applied slight pressure to the shoulder. Though he was good at school and lessons, his common sense was lower than the ground and he had stupidly forgotten what a numbing spell is.

The Ravenclaw team was all lined up, crisp midnight blue robes in perfect condition and void of a single crinkle in the hem.

He took a deep breath. The captain, who stood beside him, gave a cautious side-glance but before he could comment, was called to the field. Ezra watched as he met with Angelina Johnson to shake hands. It was a signal for the teams to meet so they rest of them walked out. Red and Blue were the main events today, and judging by the loud cheers being thrown, Ezra wouldn't doubt that this is the most exciting moment of the entire week.

The teams got in their positions, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and they were off. Ezra did what he always did—what he learned to do. He turned off everything around him. He couldn't hear anyone and he couldn't see anyone but the players beside him.

To be a seeker was his favorite. He didn't have to focus on what everyone else was. It was an interaction between him, the opponent, and the snitch. He was behind the shadows—the man behind the curtain. It was the only thing he knew how to be.

At his elevation, he searched the sky and the ground for any sign of gold. The commotion below was nonexistent at that moment—he was in his own place.

His dad had taught him to do that. He wasn't a seeker for Gryffindor but he told Ezra when he was younger that it was his dream position as a teenager. But the first time Ezra saw a snitch, was the first time he ever told his dad he hated Quidditch.

He was seven years old—still in his prime, barely thinking before speaking. His dad had taken him out to a field in the middle of nowhere—the quietest place on earth. The grass was tall and dandelions were out of control. It was in the evening, sky littered orange and pink hues covered by tinted clouds.

His brother wasn't there and neither was any other family member. Just him and dad. The scariest interaction to ever witness.

They had never connected on any level. They did look alike, however. Same brown hair and nose. Astonishingly same lips and face shape. Ezra's eyes—no, those belonged to his mother.

"What do you hear, my boy?" his father had asked him when Ezra was still considered _his boy._

Ezra had cupped his hand to his ear. "Nothing, Papa."

His father crouched down to his level. "You hear nothing?" He poked Ezra in the chest. "Nothing at all?"

Ezra nodded, trying to hear what his father was hearing.

His father pulled out his wand and flicked it over his head. A loud piercing ring startled Ezra off his feet and onto his knees, clutching his ears and hoping the eardrums weren't about to burst. He screamed loudly, tears running down his face. He looked to his father for help. _What did you do?_

He heard his father's voice in his mind. _Now, what do you hear, Ezra?_

"Make it stop, Papa. Please," he sobbed hysterically.

 _I can't._

"Yes you can!" he screamed.

His father stood unaffected by the noise. He grabbed his son's chin tightly and slapped him hard. It was almost enough to stop the pounding in his head but not enough to forget the impending pain. The slap was numb against Ezra's cheek. He could feel _anything_ except for his ears.

 _Forget the noise. Do not evoke it further. Leave it alone and it shall spare you no more attention than you are._

So he blocked it out. He heard nothing again. And this time, it wasn't by his father's doing. He didn't think about this triumphant moment though. He was angry at his father.

"Why would you do that, Papa? Why would you hurt me?" he spat.

Bored, his father clicked the roof of his mouth and pulled out a shiny gold object from his pocket and walked over to where Ezra was slumped over his knees in defeat and exhaustion.

In between his thumb and forefinger, Ezra observed, was something he had only heard about. "Do you know what this is?" his father asked him.

Ezra ignored him.

"This," he continued. "Is a golden snitch. Do you know what a golden snitch does."

Nothing.

"Well," he twisted it and let his fingers run over the grooves. "The seeker has to seek this little thing out of the sky, and catch it." He closed the ball in his grasp tightly, emphasizing his words.

Ezra didn't speak.

"And when you're older, Ezra, you'll be doing just that. You know, when I was a boy, I had always wanted to be a seeker. It was actually—"

"No."

His father turned his head slowly, hand still clutched. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded by his son's defiance.

"I said no. I don't want to be any stupid seeker. I don't want to be near you anymore. I don't want to see that stupid snitch again," Ezra said with steel. "And the most important thing; _I hate Quidditch!"_

And saying that was like a sin and Ezra knew that it had earned him a one-way ticket to hell with no refunds.

He had screamed those words at him. In those moments—there was more than one—he _detested_ his father. The man had slapped him so hard after that revelation that Ezra had felt it this time and it brought tears to his eyes.

And when they arrived home, his mother and brother couldn't even look at him. He wasn't served dinner that night nor was he let out of his own room for a week.

Ezra was knocked out of his thoughts, literally, when a bludger flew past his face. He swung around on his broom and shook his head. Pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead, he began to examine his terrain. And almost tauntingly, that damn snitch fluttered close to his face and ran off in a split second.

Ezra launched himself forward, trying to keep the snitch in his line of a vision. And as he flew upwards with his right arm outstretched, the snitch changed course and shot downward. It caused him to sit there in befuddlement but soon regained attention and went downward.

In the corner of his eye was a boy in red and yellow robes, going after the same treasure as he. And again, Ezra was then only focusing on one thing in particular—a rule his father always reminded him of.

 _Never, ever in any situation, lose focus of your main purpose._

But he lost it. And that's why he was now laying on the pitch in the itchy grass, losing conscious as he slowly fluttered his eyelids closed. Hot, flaming pain and shadows all around him faded into hums and incoherent words.

And then it was just him again. No sound, no sight. Just him. And then black.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"Lay off, Fred!"

"Just checkin' his pulse, George."

"Pomfrey said he'd be alright— _maybe knocked up in the head a bit_ —but alright regardless."

"Well don't forget whose fault it was, George!"

"Aye! Are you mad? It was your bat!"

"Your serve!"

"If you two don't bloody shut up, I'll hex the both of you."

"Saucy little thing isn't she?"

"I second Penny on that."

"Sh! He's awoken."

"Ew. Look at his eye."

"Will you two just shut up!"

The first thing Ezra saw—and he had an inkling that he really was knocked up in the head a bit—was four heads leaning over him in breathing distance.

He jumped at the sight of two red-head lookalikes and his best friends in the right-hand side with wide-eyed expressions.

Penelope raced to put her cool hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back and gently running her thumb over his left eye that he kept finding increasingly hard to stay open. He winced as she hit a spot and realized that from the previous conversation, that was where he had been mauled by the bat.

"You alright, mate?" one of the twins asked.

"Did we win?" he ignored the older boy's question, turning toward Henry.

The golden-haired boy just bit his lip and shook his head almost sympathetically. Ezra groaned and closed his eyes, turning over and burying his face in his pillow.

"What's wrong with him? Is this normal?" a twin asked worriedly?

Muffled by the cotton pillowcase, Ezra replied back, "Why the hell are you two here?"

"Well—"

"You see—"

"It was—"

"An accident—"

"Really—"

"We were just—"

"Looking out—"

"For the—"

"Team—"

"And if you happened—"

"To end up—"

"Dead—"

"Our mother would—"

"Murder us too—"

Ezra peeked an eye open and stared up at the two sheepish smiles on their face. They held both of their hands out to him.

"I'm Fred," said one.

"And I'm George," said the other.

Avoiding their hands, Ezra turned back to his pillow to mope but muttered an "Ezra." And he could hear them practically grinning from his place.

"It was a nasty fall— _and a nasty hit._ " Ezra could imagine Penelope shooting daggers across his bed at the twins.

"Again—"

"Sorry."

He heard her sigh. "Never mind. Anyway, I've got to get Madam Pomfrey to check you out." And she walked away, tiny footsteps fading.

Ezra shifted in his place and looked at Henry. He asked him with a lazy smile, "Where do I stand?"

The bronzed man gave him a once-over and blew out his cheeks. "Still sharp, I should say," he remarked. "The eye is swollen and black and your lip had a bit of dry blood but I reckon you'll be strapping by next week."

One of the twins—Ezra still couldn't tell—licked his thumb and reached over to his face. The other twin slapped his hand away and gave him a pointed look.

"No," Ezra said tiredly. " _Where do I stand_?"

"Honestly?" his friend asked uneasily, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Yes."

Henry clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and looked upwards, examining the infirmary. "You're such a goner, mate."

And Ezra wanted to do was fall back asleep. He was angry and tired. His body hurt all over from exhaustion and he just wanted all of his pain to go away. There was a bad taste in his mouth of iodine and metal. And the two red-head idiots hadn't left yet, staring at him like an exhibit for Muggles.

"Can I leave?" he asked in a whisper, not really sure who he was decided to ask—the twins, his friend, or himself. And not really sure about what he was asking to leave—the bed, the infirmary, Hogwarts, or everything.

Before Henry could respond, Madam Pomfrey did. "Tomorrow you can. Today I need to treat your eye a while longer and put some more ointment on your bruises," she looked around at the four surrounding Ezra's bed. "And you all need to head down to the Great Hall."

"But—"

She flicked her finger towards the door. Penelope gave out a sigh and grabbed Henry by the arm. "Let's go," she looks at Ezra before heading. "Get better. And uh—don't stress at the moment. Okay?"

He turned his head away.

Two remained, staring at him wildly. Ezra raised his brows in question and they shook out of their reverie. One of the grinned broadly and saluted to the beat up the boy. "Sorry again, mate—"

"Hope you feel better—"

"And remember—"

"No physical activity," they both cackled and walked out of the room. Leaving only a nurse to tend to his wounds, but unaware that his thoughts were spiraling downward as he did only previously.

The mere thought of his father hearing about the game incident was terrifying to Ezra. That's why when the Howler had arrived for him the next week, the Ravenclaw table fell silent. Timothy Wood was not one to mess with.

The letter had arrived swiftly and gently. And Ezra could have sworn that the delivery owl had pity in his eyes.

He caught the red envelope in his hands before it had immediately sprung away and screamed nastier words than all of the forbidden curses together. All Ezra wanted to do was curl up in a ball at the hate in his father's voice. He was disappointed—expected. He knew that Ezra was always an embarrassment to the family name—known. He wished his son had never been born—knew that once he had left his mother's womb.

Merlin, it was so _embarrassing_. The kid's faces—the first years! He wouldn't have been surprised if the whole Great Hall has heard—including the teachers. And worst of all—Harry Potter.

Ezra had been avoiding him since the match. At any chance that boy got, he tried to speak to Ezra. And not even able to get two words in, he had always been cut-off by Penelope and Henry coming up with some distraction—probably sensing their friend's discomfort with interacting with the Golden Boy.

Ezra Wood didn't show any emotion as the students had all fallen quiet, giving him wide-eyed looks across the room. No, he had expected this and prepared for it first-hand since waking up in the infirmary.

He stood from the bench, breakfast long forgotten. His two companions looked at him expectantly, knowing this wasn't easy for him but it was best to keep their distance for a while to let him cool off.

He closed his fists, nails digging into his palms. His hands were wet now—most likely from the blood. His eyes shut tightly and he breathed a long sigh through his nose. Opened them. And didn't glance at a single soul as he strode out of the dining room and into the corridors of Hogwarts.

He decided then that it was best to just receive his books back in the common room and head to class earlier than normal.

He walked to the picture frame of a bread basket and grapevine. He spoke his password and jogged to the boys' dorms. His satchel and books lay upon his bed in heaps of paper and notes. He retrieved them all and stuffed them into his bag.

Ezra quite liked to be somewhere alone. Nearly just being alone was welcome. Of course, the company of his friends was a bonus, but even they knew when he needed to be alone—like now.

He walked all of the ways back to the corridors of the school. And made his way straight to Divination class. Where bigger lies are told that the ones his father had said to his mother on Monday nights when questioned why he was out late—again.

 _Pity me, why don't you? I'm free to be gawked at. I've never had a price—a reason why most cannot seem to claim me. Free? Can I have your definition, please?_


End file.
